


I Will Keep Your Heart With Mine

by miera



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brienne is only mostly dead, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Not Really Character Death, show canon only
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24137500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miera/pseuds/miera
Summary: When Brienne is struck down right in front of Jaime during the battle of Winterfell, it changes the course of both their lives. (Not death fic.)
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 56
Kudos: 281





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Look everyone else got to write a S8 fix-it story, this is mine. 
> 
> Show canon only. Focused on Jaime and Brienne, so most of the other characters go to the same fate.

Jaime did not see the blow that killed Brienne. Only the aftermath of it.

She had saved him when wights swarmed over them all, burying him under a group of them. He fought mindlessly as he was attacked on all sides until she suddenly appeared, hacking at them until she could pull him free. 

A few minutes later, though, they had been pulled slightly apart by the tide of the battle and something made him turn toward her.

She was listing to the side. He watched Oathkeeper sweep across the neck of the wight before her. Bodies lay about her and he breathed in relief. Then Brienne met his eyes and alarm flooded him at the dazed look on her face.

He moved, cutting down the wights between them without even looking, shouting her name as Brienne swayed slightly, then crashed to her knees.

It should have shaken Winterfell to its foundations, the sound of her falling, but somehow it did not.

He saw the blood, flowing heavily down her leg. He saw her hand clutching just below her stomach. He went to his knees beside her, sword dropping to the ground, his right arm sliding behind her neck while his hand touched her face. 

Podrick appeared in his peripheral vision, hovering in shock over them both. 

Her body shook, falling backwards. Jaime hauled her upright again, begging, "Stay with me! Brienne! Stay with me!" 

She met his eyes, her expression pained and confused. He felt her hand fumbling against his armor, her other hand still gripping Oathkeeper. "Jaime…" 

_No 'ser'_ he thought, inanely. Brienne had never simply called him by his name before. 

She coughed, her face contorted with pain. Her gaze sought his and he thought she sighed his name again. 

Then she went still. Her body sagged, the strength that always held her so rigid vanishing and leaving her to flop ungracefully in a way she would have been mortified by. 

The worst part was her eyes. They were open, staring at him, but there was no light in the deep blue now. 

"No."

It came out as a whisper. Jaime wanted to scream. He wanted to howl so loudly the entire battle stopped. It should stop. The world had just ended, how could anyone still be moving, speaking, breathing, now? 

Something struck his back. Podrick swung his sword, the younger man expressing his grief with the bellow Jaime's voice could not produce. A fresh wave of wights was pouring up the wall and coming at them.

Jaime set Brienne's body down with care and lifted his own sword with a deliberate precision. He had faced death in battle many times, but never had he been so calm. He wielded his sword as though watching himself from above, cutting down opponents before they could manage to get close. He moved forward, away from the other soldiers despite Pod calling behind him, deeper into the midst of the wights. His arm was hit, so was his back. He could feel his blood running under his armor, hot and sticky on his skin.

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered now. Brienne was gone. He had failed her as he had failed everyone else he had loved. The Stranger would take him now and it would be a mercy, to leave the world with her. 

But with an abruptness that bewildered them all, as one the wights collapsed. 

*~*~*~*~*

Jaime staggered, his leg caving under him. He tried to walk to where he had left Brienne, but he couldn't stay on his feet. He tried to start sifting through the bodies, but his arm throbbed in pain. Someone tried to pull him away. He snarled, lashing out with his golden hand, hitting his enemy. More arms grabbed at him. He struggled, trying to return to Brienne. His blood was running still, his vision swam, and he welcomed the darkness that overtook him. 

*~*~*~*~*

It was Podrick, he learned later, that he hit. Podrick who took the blow and shook it off and, when Jaime passed out, hoisted his body and carried him to the maester.

It was Podrick who went to Lady Sansa, who needed only one look to tell her what no one wanted to say aloud. 

*~*~*~*~*

He was sparring with Brienne in a stone courtyard, the sun warm on their bodies as they circled one another. They clashed with naked steel, over and over, but his hands – both of them – were unbound. Though the fight was intense and dangerous there was a playfulness to it as well.

After a long exchange of blows they came close enough to grapple with each other. Jaime leaned forward when they were locked together, whispering the most filthy things he could think of into Brienne's ear. How once he had brought her low in the yard he would do so again in their bed, how he would lick the sweetness of her cunt until she was begging for his cock. He could feel himself swell with want at the words, see the red blush chase down her face and her neck underneath her tunic. 

Brienne broke free, shoving him back and bringing her sword up between them. She was glaring at him but there was heat in her sapphire eyes and Jaime smiled. _Oh yes._ This was what he wanted, nothing but this, the two of them fighting and fucking and belonging only to one another-

He startled awake so violently he nearly hit Tyrion, who had been the one trying to shake him awake. "Jaime," his brother said, hands raised, clearly alarmed at how sharply he had been pushed away.

It slammed back into him, the battle, Brienne falling, the light disappearing from her eyes just as it had from the world, while Jaime tried and tried but still didn't fucking die. 

He rubbed his hand against his eyes, his head throbbing almost as badly as his heart.

"Jaime," Tyrion repeated, insistent. "You need to come." Jaime felt a flash of hope that subsided at the alarm on Tyrion's face. He couldn't have good news. "We can't find her." 

*~*~*~*~*

Jaime had to brace his hand on the walls as he followed Tyrion to the solar. His wounds had bled profusely and he had been unconscious for several hours as the aftermath of the battle settled over Winterfell. His injuries made him feel twice his age. He could sleep for a bloody year and still be tired. 

He heard voices before they even entered the room, Arya's carrying the furthest, yelling, "We have to keep looking!"

Everyone paused when Jaime and Tyrion entered. Arya and Podrick stood to one side, with Jon Snow and Daenerys facing them. Sansa stood between with Davos and Clegane. A few other lords lingered around the room, including the ginger wildling that had been dogging Brienne's steps before the battle started.

"Ser Jaime," Jon spoke before anyone else could. "Do you recall exactly where Lady Brienne fell?"

"Ser Brienne," Jaime corrected, glancing at Pod. "We were on the wall. Podrick was there." 

"I went to look for her, ser," Pod said to Jaime. The lad was more agitated than Jaime had ever seen him. "After I spoke to Lady Sansa, I wanted to find her, not leave her to be burned with the wights."

"But you didn't find her?"

"No, ser. I picked through the whole pile of the dead, but there were no bodies of any soldiers below them, not on the whole stretch of the wall." 

"They haven't burned her," Clegane put in. "I'd have known her if the body had been carried to the pyres." It sounded like he'd stated this already at least once.

"I'm sorry," Jon told the room. "I know what she meant to you, but the likely explanation is that her body fell into the fire somewhere outside the walls."

"No one had started clearing the wall of anything when I got there," Pod snapped, careless that he was speaking to a king. "I know where she fell, none of the corpses had been moved yet. And she was behind us when the battle ended."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Daenerys said, standing alongside Jon. "I understand your grief, but we must focus on dealing with our dead and nursing the wounded. We can't stop everything for one person." 

Sansa straightened just a touch. Jaime had stayed far from the Lady of Winterfell since his arrival, but it was clear there was tension between her and the Dragon Queen. Sansa's eyes went to Clegane. "Sandor, tell them to cease burning the bodies for the moment. Speak to the others, be sure they didn't see Lady Brienne. Ser Jaime, you and Podrick will take Arya and Jon to where she fell, while Ser Davos checks the injured being seen by the healers again to be sure." 

Daenerys glanced at Jon Snow, but the man's shoulders slumped and he merely nodded at Sansa and started for the door, everyone else scattering in different directions in his wake.

*~*~*~*~*

The wall was as Pod had said. Wights and men lay dead in awkward heaps. Pod explained he'd ordered the men working to clear the bodies not to disturb the area until he returned.

Jaime looked at the stain of blood and gore on the stone and saw Brienne fall again in his mind. He had to blink, to breathe, to keep himself present. "Here." 

They combed the whole section, turning over every corpse, but none of them were Brienne. "She couldn't have crawled off somewhere?" Jon asked, looking more unsure than he had been indoors. 

"She was gone," Jaime repeated. He saw the life leave her, saw the way her body had gone slack as it never had done before, not even in sleep. 

Sansa appeared a few minutes later. "Did you ask?" Arya demanded immediately. Her sister nodded.

"All he would say is she's not where she's supposed to be." 

Bran, Jaime realized.

"What the hells does that even mean?" Arya growled. 

Sansa made a helpless gesture. "Sandor checked the men disposing of the bodies. He said they were removing the armor from the dead so it could be reused."

"Oathkeeper," Jaime said, his throat dry.

"Someone would've recognized it," Podrick agreed. Valyrian steel had been too vital to the battle for it to be put aside.

"Clegane might have, but would the other men?" Jon asked. He moved closer to Sansa and put a hand on her arm. "I know this is difficult, but the most likely explanation is that in the heat of battle they didn't notice. We can't expend our efforts trying to locate one person. There is much to do before we can march south."

"Your queen is the one who wants to march south," Arya said, the contempt she invested in the royal title almost palpable.

Jaime knew Jon was right, that the logical answer was that Brienne's corpse had been taken and burned or somehow fallen into the fires burning outside the walls, but not knowing for certain was going to drive what little sanity he had left to him away.

"We should check the entire castle," Jaime countered the king. "Every sword." Valyrian steel would be difficult to miss. If someone was in possession of Oathkeeper, they would be able to report where they got it from.

Sansa met his eyes and Jaime could see the same restlessness he felt. She nodded sharply. "We'll look for the sword. It must be somewhere." 

*~*~*~*~*

Over the next hours as the night lengthened a group of volunteers scoured the entirety of Winterfell. Every weapon was examined. Daenerys even conceded to ask her people to help, going through her remaining soldiers, but without success. The word had gotten out that the Lady Ser's remains had not been found. Jaime could already hear snatches of ghost stories - and worse - being whispered about Brienne's fate.

Pod appeared eventually. "No sign of the sword, Ser Jaime, but Sam's lady, Gilly, said to come to where they're treating the injured. There's a man from our company who thinks he saw something." 

They hurried along, Jaime grateful to get out of the cold. Tyrion, Jon, Arya and Sansa converged along with them and in the large hall where the wounded were being tended, Gilly lead them to a bed where a young man whose face was vaguely familiar to Jaime lay. His left arm was gone and Jaime felt a throb of sympathy in his missing hand. 

"What's your name?" Sansa asked the lad.

"Harlan, my lady. I heard the nurses talking, that they ain't found the body of Ser Brienne. I think I saw them take her." 

"Who?" Pod asked at the same time Jaime said "When was this?"

Harlan addressed Jaime. "Just after she went down, ser. I was fighting three of the wights off but one of them got me good in the leg and I fell. There was a whole mob of 'em, swarming around where she'd been. I thought…" he coughed, shaking his head. "It looked like a bunch of the bastards picked up something heavy and moved off with it. It was so peculiar I was just staring and then, well," he gestured to the bandages where his arm should have been. "I didn't remember it till I heard you were looking for her body. Wasn't sure it really happened, ser." 

"It's all right," Jaime told him, seeing fear in the man's face, fear of the dark look on Jaime's own.

The group of them moved off into a side room. Jaime pinned Jon Snow with a look. "Is it possible?"

Jon scratched at his face. "I have no idea. Wights aren't soldiers, they're just mindless bodies. The Walkers didn't seem to have any grasp of strategy. They just directed the wights to keep flooding our positions until we were overwhelmed."

"The Night King wasn't mindless," Arya put in. 

"You think the Night King directed the wights to carry Brienne's body off in the middle of battle?" Tyrion asked.

"She might not have been dead," Pod said. 

All heads snapped to Pod, and then to Jaime, who glared. "Podrick. You saw her die."

"I saw her faint, Ser Jaime. It looked like she was gone and she didn't seem to be breathing, but her heart may not have stopped." 

"She bled out," Jaime said, his voice gravel. "There was blood everywhere, the light left her eyes. She was dead." 

"Even if she was," Tyrion interjected, "is it possible they carried her outside the walls? You said she fell not long before the battle ended."

"They might have been trying to get the sword," Jon observed. "We only had a few pieces of Valyrian steel. They might have been trying to take one of our best weapons away from us." 

"If they were taking her to a Walker or to the Night King, and they all fell when he died, her body would be somewhere out on the field-" Sansa began.

"Not where she's supposed to be," Arya finished her sister's thought. 

There was a moment of silence. Jaime met Pod's eyes and despite the confrontation of a minute earlier, they nodded to each other. "Then I guess that's where we go look."

Arya turned in time with him and Pod, but Jon blocked their path. "You can't. It's the middle of the night, we have no idea if the daylight will return on time, and it's been snowing for hours. You'll never find anything in these conditions."

"I'm not leaving her out there," Jaime growled. 

Jon turned to Sansa. "She's gone. I'm sorry, I know what she meant to you, I truly do. But staggering around freezing in the snow isn't going to change that. When the light comes back we'll have to organize a search for other bodies outside the walls anyway."

"We're not leaving her out there," Pod reiterated. 

Sansa wavered. "He's right, in the dark, with the snowfall, it's unlikely you'll be able to locate anything."

"Ghost could find her," Arya said, suddenly.

All of them looked to Jon. Jaime had no desire to be anywhere near the direwolf, but he would've walked straight into the deepest of the seven hells right now if it meant finding Brienne. 

The king of the north gave in with reluctance and a search party was formed. Jon and his pet wolf would lead, with Jaime, Podrick, Arya and Clegane. More people appeared, though, dressed against the wind and carrying torches. Jaime spotted Tormund among the wildling group. He shouldn't have been surprised. Brienne had been a fixture at Winterfell for some time and difficult to miss even in the crowds; a woman sworn sword, Lady Sansa's most trusted guard, the protector of the Starks. Even those who dismissed her knew of her. 

They exited out of the gate closest to where Brienne had fallen in battle and fanned out. Clegane's men had been removing the wights that had fallen closest to the walls already, so there was a gap before the corpses started up again. 

Jon had been right, it was difficult to locate anything even with a multitude of torches, but they stumbled over the remains of wights and even some of their own fighters. The direwolf trotted about, snuffling and digging into the snow, appearing to enjoy the game.

As they got further from Winterfell Jaime's determination began to weaken. All they were finding were wights, and the wind was cutting into them while snow stung their faces. What were the odds she was even here, let alone that they would find her? And for what purpose? 

Arya spotted a larger mound of snow and pointed, calling something to Jon Jaime didn't catch. The direwolf ran over to it and nosed around. Suddenly it whined and began to dig.

All of them converged on the mound, which proved to be a large pile of wights, more parts than anything. But something underneath caught the torchlight, caught it and reflected it back with a gleam Jaime recognized.

"Here!" Jaime yelled, crashing to his knees and digging frantically, the pace increasing around him as well. Pieces of the wights were thrown every direction as they all scrambled through the snow and carnage. When Jaime spotted a head of pale blonde hair, tears began to run down his face. 

She lay partly on her side. She was covered in blood and dirt from head to toe. Jaime could see the dark stain of it along her hip and leg from the wound that had felled her. Near her hand, Podrick fumbled in the snow and found Oathkeeper, glinting in the light. She had never let go of the sword.

Once they freed her, he pulled and the others rolled and her head landed in Jaime's lap. Podrick was kneeling next to Jaime and he folded his hand around Brienne's on the hilt of Oathkeeper. 

The urgency of finding her had temporarily made him forget that they were searching for a corpse and he felt the sharp stab of grief all over again as he looked down at her. She was ghostly pale after so long exposed, even her freckles almost invisible, her skin was so bloodless. His hand rested on her cheek, which was as cold as the snow through his wet glove.

 _We found you,_ he thought. _We can put you to rest now, Brienne._

Jon called for men to head back to Winterfell and bring a litter to bear her body back. Some of the rest of the volunteers spoke quietly and began to turn for the shelter of the keep, the job being done. 

Podrick stiffened. "Ser Jaime…"

Brienne's head tilted. Almost as if she had turned. There was an audible gasp from the group gathered around them. But it couldn't be, she was gone, she was ice cold to his touch. Her body must just have slid a bit on his knee. 

Except by now her body should have been stiff, from the stillness of death, from the cold.

And Podrick wasn't looking at her head. "I think her hand moved," Pod whispered, his eyes fixed on the grip he had on Brienne's hand.

Arya was on Brienne's other side, across from Pod. She put a hand on Brienne's chest, everyone waiting in frozen silence, but there was no other sign. A false hope, wishful thinking, obviously it had to be…

Arya tugged at her glove with her teeth and freed her hand. Her fingers moved, digging into the skin at Brienne's neck. A long, aching minute passed before Arya's jaw dropped open. "I think… I think she has a heartbeat."

She stared up at Jaime, both she and Pod looking painfully young and asking him silently what he was afraid to ask the gods. 

Jaime bent himself down, his ear against Brienne's lips. He couldn't hear anything, not over the wind, but there was the faintest hint of warm breath against his cold skin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watching over Brienne, Jaime has time to reflect on the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically from here on out this fic is about "what would have happened if they didn't sleep together that night?" Most of the rest of the events from the show will remain the same with a couple minor exceptions.

Jaime wasn't aware of what he said, or entirely conscious of his surroundings. He heard, as from a distance, Jon Snow now shouting urgently, felt people beginning to run around him. A litter appeared and Pod, Clegane, Tormund and Jon rushed back to the gate as fast as they could manage through the snow and wind, Jaime stumbling alongside and holding Oathkeeper tightly. Arya had run ahead to warn Winterfell.

They arrived in the sickroom to find Sam waiting for them with Gilly and Sansa at the ready. "Get this off her," Sam barked, gesturing at the armor. Pod and Jon began tearing at the clasps and buckles, Jaime helping where he could, until they removed all of it. 

Sam was intent on his work while Gilly and Sansa assisted him. Jaime moved out of their way, kneeling at the end of the bed next to Brienne's head. Sansa ushered the other men from the room aside from Pod, as they would need to remove the rest of Brienne's clothing. Jaime felt her eyes pass over him, but she said nothing. It didn't matter, anyway, as he couldn't look away from Brienne's pale face. He didn't want to see her blood, or the torn flesh of the wounds, or watch Sam tend to them.

His hand ended up brushing her hair back, a gesture of tenderness he would never have dared to make in any other circumstances. Then he just kept stroking her hair, over and over, silently pleading to any of the gods, old or new, that might be listening for her life. It couldn't end now. They couldn't have found her alive after so long only for her to die now. 

Eventually hands entered his field of vision. Sansa had gathered a basin and cloths and she carefully wiped Brienne's face clean. When she was done, she reached over and grasped his wrist tightly for a moment.

Someone – he thought it was Gilly – laid a wool hood over Brienne's head, but she didn't bother to remove Jaime's hand from where his fingers lay against the lank strands of hair. 

Brienne moved slightly. Jaime and Pod both leaned forward, but her eyes didn't open. She moved again though, small twitches that slowly grew into full-blown shivering. 

"Good, that's good," Sam muttered. "A good sign," he told the two of them. "Her body is remembering to live." 

A long, terrible time passed until the shaking grew less and then subsided. Jaime could feel warmth under his fingers against her head at long last. 

He had no idea how many hours had passed as he knelt there. At some point he became aware of Tyrion standing next to him, his arm draped over Jaime's shoulder. Jaime finally pulled his eyes away from Brienne's face. His brother looked exhausted and grim. "Jaime, you need to rest." 

"I'm all right." His voice croaked and he realized he was thirsty, and that his body was numb from kneeling motionless for so long. 

Sam chimed in from where he was carefully drawing a blanket back over Brienne. "He's right, ser, you need to rest and eat. Keep up your strength."

Jaime shook his head. He couldn't leave her, how could they not see that? 

"You're not recovered from your own wounds yet," Tyrion reminded him. He glanced at Sam. "It's going to be a long road for her to heal, if she can. You need to be ready for it."

Podrick spoke from where he was sitting nearby, out of Sam's way but still close. "I'll keep watch, Ser Jaime, while you rest."

He could trust Pod, Jaime knew. Brienne trusted the lad, Jaime could trust him. He attempted to stand and nearly fell over. Sam and Pod caught hold of him, Sam clucking about Jaime having ripped open the wound on his arm. Jaime submitted to the maester's fussing and recovering his wound, let Tyrion force some food on him. They guided him to a pallet a few steps from where Brienne was, so that Jaime could lie down and still see her. 

He didn't think he would sleep but when he opened his eyes he knew that he had at least for a few hours. His mind was sharper, even though there was absolutely no part of his body that wasn't hurting and standing made him want to weep.

Brienne remained too still, but there was some color to her skin rather than the pallor of death. Now at least he could see her chest rise and fall with each breath. 

He switched places with Pod and the boy settled himself on the pallet to sleep. Jaime ate what was brought for him, slept in his turn. Podrick went out to help with work on restoring the castle for some time before returning with food for Jaime and to take his turn at rest. Sam and a nurse came by to check Brienne's injury. 

It was fortunate that Sam was there when Brienne's eyelids fluttered. Jaime reacted so loudly he woke Pod up. 

"Lady Brienne, can you hear me?" Sam asked, leaning over her. 

Her eyes opened for a mere moment, but her head moved as if to nod. 

"Get her up, quickly," Sam ordered.

Pod tucked an arm under her shoulders, Jaime held her head up, and Sam swiftly fed her some broth and then milk of the poppy, wiping the bit that she didn't swallow. 

"There now. She should sleep steadily, and it will help with the pain." 

Jaime wanted to ask what the chances were, but couldn't bring himself to speak the question. Instead, he looked up at the young maester. "What now?"

"We watch for infection, keep the pain managed, and we wait. I want to warn you both, I've seen folk suffer from exposure to the cold like this before and never fully recover. I don't know how but she's not showing signs of frostbite anywhere, and the wound seems to be closing, but the cold, it can addle the mind in a way that can't be fixed." 

Jaime refused to believe that, so he put the warning aside. Brienne was far, far too stubborn to let the weather confuse her mind permanently. "How did she survive? All that time?"

"That I don't know. I think the cold slowed her blood, and the wound closed itself when the blood froze, which kept her from bleeding to death. But she was out in the cold for hours. It should have been the end of her, especially coupled with the injury. Perhaps the gods willed it otherwise." 

Jaime wouldn't dismiss divine intervention at this point, but he was considering what they knew about her injuries and the immediate aftermath of the battle. "The wights."

"Ser?"

Jaime thought back to how they had found her body. "She was being carried by the wights. When they collapsed, she was completely surrounded by them." A cocoon of corpses. He shuddered at the thought.

"That kept the cold at bay, at least enough," Pod concluded. 

With Brienne under the influence of the poppy, Sam finally prevailed upon Jaime to leave the room and bathe. It was startling to go out, like waking from a vivid dream, only this time the sun was setting on another short and frigid day. People were moving about the courtyard, busy at work, the world resuming its pace after the long night.

They stopped him, over and over, asking about the Lady Ser, telling Jaime they were praying for her. Jaime stumbled through the conversations, growing increasingly aware of how dirty and smelly he was still, until a matronly woman directed him to Tyrion's room and promised to send a bath.

Jaime stirred the banked fire and sat on a stool, staring at the flames.

_She's alive. She's alive._

Servants appeared with a tub and then buckets of hot water. Jaime hadn't had a full bath since leaving King's Landing and though his limbs trembled more than once, he managed to remove his soiled clothing and climb in. He scrubbed his skin raw, washing the filth from his hair and beard as well. It reminded him of Harrenhal, of pale skin and blue eyes and a secret he'd held close for years slipping out into the steam. 

Dry and in clean clothes, he felt like a new man. He went and sought his brother, curious to learn what had been occurring and how many days it had been.

*~*~*~*~*

He had missed a lot, it turned out. A burial, a feast of sorts, and a war council which had ended with the decision to begin moving the army south in a matter of days. The commander in Jaime shook his head. It was foolish to push the men here to march so fast. The weather was still cold, many were recovering from injuries. The forces in the south were entrenched already. Waiting a few more weeks would make little difference.

He said as much to Tyrion, who acknowledged the truth of it while also shrugging, helpless against his queen's orders. 

"So the great unanswered question of the moment is, what will you do now? Now that honor is satisfied and the great threat to mankind is gone, will you run back to Cersei as always?"

Jaime startled as he realized this was the first time he had even thought of his sister in days. 

He thought about it, going back to King's Landing, back to the Keep. Back to a thousand awful memories, ghosts of the dead he hadn't been able to save, to his sister's scorn and cruelty. His stomach turned over. 

And to leave Brienne, wounded and unconscious, with the Stranger still lurking in the shadows? To go to his own death not knowing if she survived?

"I'd be killed the second I entered King's Landing, if I was lucky," he said, sipping the wine he was holding. "Our sweet sister nearly had me killed by her creature on the way out." 

When there was no response, he looked at his brother. Tyrion was staring. "You'll forgive my skepticism," he finally said. "All of our past history suggests that it's only a matter of time before-"

"I'm not going back," Jaime interrupted. 

Tyrion tilted his head. "You've found a suitable replacement for Cersei, then? I confess I would not have believed it possible, much less with someone-"

"Don't," he interrupted again, temper flaring. "She's not…" 

His brother's expression softened. "No, she isn't, is she." 

Perhaps his brother knew him too well, because Tyrion watched him in silence for a moment before asking quietly, "I didn't want to speak of it before the battle, as it seemed like tempting the gods, but now I would ask, how long have you been in love with her?"

The word shook him. It had been unthinkable for so long to gift that word to any person but Cersei. He had felt something for Brienne but refused to give it a name, even in his own mind, fearful of someone discovering the truth. 

Denial rose to his lips, months and years of it having ingrained the response, but he bit down and stayed silent. Denial was pointless now, surely? However he might want to insist that his concern for Brienne was borne of friendship, the bond of comrades in arms, his behavior over the last several days had demonstrated that to be a lie. He had lost many friends in battle. He had never gone running into the dark of a winter storm to recover one of their bodies, never sat at the bedside of an injured soldier for days on end. 

But the thought of saying it frightened him to the core for some reason. He couldn't bear this conversation, with Tyrion needling and picking at him for details. His skin was crawling and he wanted to bolt up from his chair and flee the room.

Before Tyrion could speak again, Ser Davos appeared in the doorway. "Ser Jaime? Lady Sansa wishes to speak with you." 

Jaime did not feel at all up to this conversation but he wanted away from Tyrion, so he dutifully followed Davos to a solar, where the Lady of Winterfell was reviewing letters. "Ser Jaime, thank you for coming."

He bowed, biting back the observation that he could hardly have ignored her summons. His remaining in Winterfell had been Sansa's decision, reliant on her faith in Brienne. Did that still hold? Now that the battle was done here, there wasn't much use for a one-handed knight, let alone one who had done such damage to the Stark family. Was this audience to inform him he was to be chucked out into the snow at the first opportunity? Or worse?

The young woman put her papers down with care and leaned back in her seat. "How fares Lady Brienne?"

He considered correcting Brienne's title but decided against it. He didn't want to do anything to arouse Sansa's ire if he could avoid it. He explained that Brienne had woken and been given medicine, and what Sam had said to expect over the next few days. 

Sansa likely knew all of this already, but she nodded. "I appreciate the care you and Podrick have devoted to Lady Brienne over the last few days." 

Her face was so carefully composed, Jaime couldn't get a read on what she was thinking, so he merely shrugged. "I doubt Podrick needs to be thanked for it. I certainly do not." 

She changed topics seamlessly. "Has your brother informed you that the army will be departing shortly for the south?"

"He has."

"And what are your intentions?"

She was asking the same question as Tyrion, Jaime realized. Though possibly with less -- or more? -- conviction of what the answer was. But he was no more ready to tell Sansa what he'd not been able to speak to his brother.

He grasped on to the most important fact. "I cannot leave until we know whether Ser Brienne will recover." 

He'd said something amiss, he could tell by the way Sansa's face grew somehow more impassive. "But you intend to depart after that?"

_She expects me to go back to Cersei, just as Tyrion does. It's what I always do._

"No, I-" he swallowed, looking down. He wanted to stay. Gods help him, he wanted to remain in the bloody north, in Winterfell surrounded by Starks, because this was where Brienne was. He had no idea if Sansa would find that an acceptable reason for the Kingslayer to remain hovering over her sworn sword. "I owe a debt," he said, his left hand rubbing along the stump of his arm. "When this happened, the wound grew infected. I nearly… I would have died without Lady Brienne's care." 

Sansa's expression didn't change. "You wish to remain to nurse her back to health, to repay her?" 

_Lannisters always pay their debts._ Jaime gritted his teeth against his pride. "If you'll allow me. A one-handed man isn't going to be much use to rebuilding Winterfell, but I can care for her until she's able to manage for herself."

She digested that. "You might be the only one who can keep her from overdoing it until Sam says she's ready," Sansa observed wryly. 

He laughed, a small one, but she was right. Once Brienne was no longer drugged it was going to be a struggle to keep her from rising from her sickbed too soon. 

Sansa regarded him. Jaime feared she would ask again what he would do once Brienne was well, and he had no idea what answer to give her, but she apparently decided against it. "Very well. You shall remain as my guest for the time being. And Ser Jaime? I know that you protected Lady Brienne's honor before." Her eyes went to his stump briefly. "If I learn you have taken advantage of her current state, you'll meet the same end as Bolton." 

Anger choked him, that she would dare suggest he would do such a thing, but knowing what he did about the Boltons in general, he couldn't blame her for assuming the worst. "I would never do such a thing, my lady. You have my word, for whatever it is worth to you." 

Her gaze was not as contemptuous as he expected, but she merely nodded in dismissal. Jaime turned and then turned back and spoke quickly before Sansa could change her mind. "If I might make a suggestion? Young Podrick escaped the battle without any major injuries. He would be the most suitable person to take Ser Brienne's place for the time being. I know she trusts the lad. It might help keep her from pushing her recovery too fast if she were certain of your safety." 

The corners of her mouth turned up just slightly. She was clearly picturing Brienne, conscious but too weak to stand, trying to insist on putting on her armor and following Sansa around anyway. "I will bear that in mind, ser." 

He bowed and made good his escape. 

*~*~*~*~*

Jaime blamed Tyrion for the fact that his mind started to be plagued by thoughts of Cersei and the child. He was leaving his sister, his other half, to her fate, and their unborn babe at the mercy of a woman with two dragons. He tried to put it out of his head, reminding himself that he made his choice when he rode north, and that Cersei had made hers by lying to everyone about her intentions. She had chosen power over the child, and there was nothing he could do to change that. 

Still, guilt ate at him, until the night before the army departed, when his farewell drink with Tyrion was interrupted by Bronn, of all people. Armed with the crossbow Tyrion had used to kill their father, Bronn clearly enjoyed informing Jaime that Cersei wanted him dead too. 

_It's over. It's done. I'm not going back._

When he returned to the sickroom later that night, he noticed that Brienne looked more flushed than she had earlier in the day. By morning it was certain that she had developed a fever. 

With the army leaving, the number of patients under the maester's care dwindled and the injured were moved to a smaller room. Jaime's pallet was set up parallel to Brienne's so he could see her as soon as he woke. Sansa had taken Jaime's advice and asked Podrick to stand in Brienne's place for the time being, though the lad followed the Lady of Winterfell whenever she came to check on the wounded each day.

With fewer people to tend, Sam was able to devote more care to Brienne. He was concerned for her but did not seem to think the situation was dire. Her wound was infected, but they found it straightaway. He cleaned the wound, a process Jaime found he could not stomach, and they fed her milk of the poppy and a few other things when she was awake enough to drink.

Jaime took to wearing the golden hand again after leaving it off while his arm healed. Without Pod's assistance, he needed his right arm to hold Brienne high enough to sip the bowls of broth Gilly brought for her. It frightened him to see Brienne so weak that she could not sit up on her own.

The fever worsened as the days stretched. For a brief time, Brienne had been lucid enough to question Jaime about the battle and its aftermath, though she frequently would forget his answers only to repeat the same question later. But she was awake less and less, lost in a haze of visions and dreams that left her restless, speaking in a weak voice without opening her eyes. She called out for someone, Jaime did not know who it was, but her voice cracked with sadness. More than once she seemed to be pleading for forgiveness. He thought she was speaking to her father, from what he could hear. 

Jaime watched over her, wiping the sweat from her face, barely leaving her side. He did his best to reassure her, but it struck him hard as he listened to her that he knew little about her life. He could have described her character in detail, but the names she spoke aloud were unknown to him. He had no idea what she could possibly need to beg forgiveness of from her own father. 

He would learn all there was to know, he swore it to himself, if she just survived this.

The fifth day was the worst, for she didn't wake at all. Even the terrible visions seemed to have ceased, or she lacked the energy to respond, for she lay the whole day in a stupor, unmoving. Aside from the fever flush her skin was pale and chilled no matter how carefully he spread the furs over her body. 

He was lying on his pallet but not asleep when Brienne began to stir in the evening. He heard the whimpering first and pushed himself upright. Brienne's head tossed on the pillow, her face contorted. Then her arms began to push against an imaginary foe. Whatever fight she was trapped in escalated quickly, and Jaime flung himself from the bed as she thrashed against the blankets covering her. "Brienne, stop!" 

His voice had no effect. She screamed, a hoarse, frightened sound that left him shaking and startled several of the other patients. "No, no, no," she grunted, her arms flailing about. She would tear the wound open if she kept this up, and he had no choice but to catch her and try to hold her still.

She resisted, not that he expected any less. She tried to buck him off her but cried out in pain as she undoubtedly pulled at her injury. "Brienne, stop, please." 

Her voice was rough and broken. "Jaime." He had never hated the sound of his own name before, never imagined her saying in this way even in his worst nightmares.

"Brienne, lay still, please, it's just a dream." 

Her eyes fluttered open. "Jaime?"

Thank the gods. "Yes, it's me. It's all right. You're safe." 

She stopped fighting him. "I couldn't… there were too many of them."

He nodded, rearranging her blankets. He had dreamt of the wights swarming over him more than once. It was not a sensation he was likely ever to forget. "I know, but it's over. You're safe now."

She stared up at his face, confused. "You didn't call out. There were too many, and I couldn't fight, but you were supposed to shout and stop them." 

Jaime froze, looking down at her. It wasn't the battle she was reliving. 

Brienne's eyes were wet. "Jaime? Are you here?"

"I'm here," he said immediately. He cupped her cheek in his hand, swiping at the dampness under her eye with his thumb. "I'm here. I called out. Sapphires. I stopped them. You're safe. I swear it, Brienne." 

Her eyes closed but she turned into his hand. "I don’t want to go there. Not the bear, not again."

He would prefer she not relive that experience again either. "Then we will go somewhere else. When you're well again, I'll take you anywhere you like." 

She sighed but it was a more contented sound than he'd ever heard from her before. "I miss the sea," she murmured. 

He thought immediately of Tarth, how beautiful it had looked. "Then we'll go to the shore, I promise." 

"Ser Jaime?" He snapped his head around. Sam was standing nearby. Jaime had been so focused on Brienne he hadn't heard the man approach. "I'm sorry, but if she's awake we should get her to drink." 

Brienne whined like a petulant child, which would have been amusing if his heart hadn't still been lodged in his throat, but between him and Sam they got her to sit up and take some broth and some medicine. Her head rested on Jaime's right shoulder, his stump and false hand tucked around her back to keep her steady while she sipped from the bowls. Her body was hot to the touch and her shift was damp from sweat. 

She was mostly asleep by the time they laid her back down, the poppy doing its work, but her hand moved to grasp at Jaime's. She made an unhappy noise when she touched the golden hand, and moved her arm until her fingers found the warm skin of his forearm under his tunic. Only then did she settle, and soon was sleeping peacefully.

Sam offered to sit with her while he ate, but Jaime did not think he could leave her after what had just happened. Jaime remained at Brienne's side for a long while, his hand stroking her hair, staring down at her, memories of their time together in the Riverlands going through his mind as he recalled Tyrion's question before he left. Here, in the darkness, with no one nearby to see, it was less terrifying to contemplate.

_I didn't love you then,_ he thought, watching Brienne sleep. _I hated you for being in my path back to Cersei, and because you were everything I once wanted to be. But I grew to respect you for it._ Perhaps that was when the seed was planted, admiration for her mixed with gratitude and resentment that made his tongue loosen in the bath when he told her that which he'd never spoken of to another living soul. 

He had never thought much about Brienne's memories of the night his hand had been cut off. He was sure the sound of his screaming was not a pleasant memory for her, but the pain of it had blotted out some of his memories of what had happened before. He felt like a fool for not realizing she would be haunted by what had nearly happened to her. 

He had dreamt of the loss of his hand frequently, of course, but more than once he had dreamt that he didn't turn back to Harrenhal, or that he arrived too late and was forced to watch as that damned bear gutted her before him. Leaving her behind there had been difficult, and turning back had been risky, but he had never once regretted going back for her. He had told himself it was an act of loyalty, an attempt at being the honorable man she imagined he was capable of being. 

He remembered the icy chill that went down his spine when he saw Brienne speaking to Cersei at the wedding, another thing that he had forgotten in the chaos of what happened immediately afterward. The same instinct that kept him from naming his feelings had compelled him to send Brienne away. How often had his family used his love for Tyrion against him? Jaime had learned the perils of admitting he cared about something aloud too well. He needed Brienne away from his sister and his father.

Part of him had wanted to go with her, to be a real knight on a quest as he had once dreamed of, but it was safer for her to be gone and out of the minds of everyone but him. He had given her the best protection he could manage at the time, quietly hoping that the obvious symbols on the sword would warn anyone who saw it that she was under the protection of his house. 

He finally moved back to his pallet. He wouldn't sleep again, not for some time. He could still feel each beat of his heart heavy in his chest. 

_Did it start then?_ he wondered to himself. _When I sent her away to keep her safe from Cersei, from my father?_ In retrospect it was a miracle Tywin hadn't seized the excuse of Jaime having been alone with Brienne for weeks – never mind that he had been her prisoner – as a reason to get him out of the Kingsguard and married. Possibly her appearance had been enough of a deterrent to his father. 

He would have rebelled, loudly, if his father had tried it, and Brienne likely would not have complied. And the gods only knew what his sister would have done to Brienne had Jaime married her, even if it had been forced at their father's hand. Sending her away had been the best course of action, but now with hindsight he wondered what would have become of them if they had been wed, if he would have gotten away from Cersei much sooner. 

_I was nowhere near free of Cersei, though. Not then._ Jaime wasn't so sure he was free of his twin even now. 

He had done so many awful things in the name of love, never caring about the blackening of his own soul if it pleased Cersei. He thought that was what love was. Laying everything on the altar of passion and spitting at the gods for the sake of one person's happiness, her merest whim. That was proof of his devotion, so he had thought. It had taken him so long, stupidly long, to realize that there was no sacrifice he could make that would satisfy her. She would always ask him for something else, something more, requiring him to prove himself again and again. 

Meanwhile Cersei would never deny herself even the smallest thing for his sake, never make any sacrifice to make him happy. When he grew rebellious or even just cautious, she knew exactly how to manipulate him to make him comply again. But each time her disdain for him grew.

_I thought I loved her. She used me until I was no longer dancing on her strings._ He had realized that when she told him of the child, the babe he wasn't sure truly existed and knew might not be his if it did. Cersei told him of the child to bind him to her again when he was wavering, he was certain of that. _I should have left her long ago. After Tommen, certainly._ But he had been in love with Cersei his entire life, or so he thought. He had never felt desire for any other woman, never been close to anyone for long enough to care. His sister was his entire world, and she had done whatever was necessary to keep it so, without concern for the damage they did to others, or the damage to Jaime himself. 

He hadn't known love could be anything but passion and violence and submission, until Brienne. That love could be quiet and steady, faith and respect and tenderness. She had never asked him for anything other than to be a better man than he had been. Brienne had been gentle with him, he remembered vividly, with her hands if not with her words, long before she had any reason to like him at all. 

_You certainly didn't love me then,_ he thought ruefully, recalling her catching him in the bath before he could drown, after he'd upended her naïve worldview. 

His small smile faded. That was not to say she loved him now, or ever had.

He was certain that Brienne cared for him and would call him a friend. She would not have stood before the Dragon Queen or Sansa Stark and spoken on his behalf if she felt nothing for him. But that did not mean she returned his own feelings. It didn't mean that she had this sense of something deeper, all the more powerful for being unspoken, which Jaime had carried for years. They had only been in each other's company a short time, after all, and spent months apart. 

He had hoped, or possibly flattered himself, that Brienne understood him. He had shown his feelings in the ways that were available to him – her armor, Oathkeeper, even Podrick. Allowing her into Riverrun, allowing her to escape. Knighting her, which had probably been the best thing he'd ever done in his life. 

And coming here, of course. He came north to keep his word, to try to reclaim his honor, but mostly he had come for Brienne. 

He hadn't expected to get out of King's Landing alive, hadn't expected to survive the trip north, had definitely been expecting to be executed by any of the half dozen people in Winterfell who might justly want him dead. 

He had not truly expected any of them to live through the long night. His main motivation had been to die with a sword in his hand, fighting for a just cause for once in his miserable life, and if the gods were kind, to spend his last few moments with the woman he loved. He had never thought about what might come after.

*~*~*~*~*

He slept for a few hours before dawn, and when he woke, Sam informed him Brienne's fever had broken.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got this into shape, I hope. Please remember most of the show canon events remain the same in this 'verse.

They moved Brienne back to her own room a few days later. Jaime expected to have to argue the matter, but nobody even asked before they moved his sleeping pallet into her room as well. He knew it was improper. Brienne was a highborn lady and, so far as he knew, a maiden. There should not be a man sleeping in her room with her to whom she was not married. Even Pod had had his own room before the battle. 

Possibly everyone remaining in Winterfell knew better than to try to separate Jaime Lannister from Brienne of Tarth.

He considered bringing it up himself, but Brienne was still having nightmares, especially as they weaned her off the stronger medication, and whatever resolutions he came to during the short days faded when he sat at the side of her bed, trying to soothe her while she whimpered in her sleep.

He dreamed as well, of the courtyard, sometimes, or of Brienne in the tunnels under Casterly Rock. More than once he dreamed of joining her in the bed, the furs pulled over them, all the freckled skin he still remembered from the bath in Harrenhal waiting for his touch. He woke from those dreams achingly aroused, staring at the glimpse of her fair hair across the room in the low firelight. He made no move toward her, of course, not given her condition, but the wanting in his belly grew even stronger.

Lady Sansa's words proved prophetic, for as the fever receded, Brienne grew aware of herself and her surroundings and impossibly restless. She chafed at the restrictions required for her to heal, complaining under her breath any time she was told to stay still. Jaime began to consider slipping more milk of the poppy into her food. She started trying to sit up, even though Sam told her with a surprising amount of force in his voice not to do so yet. She acquiesced for that day, but two days later she tried again. Sam finally allowed her to sit but ordered her not to try to walk yet.

Jaime did everything he could think of to distract her, telling her stories of his childhood that mostly revolved around Tyrion, asking her questions about her family and her home when she was awake enough to answer. He bit his tongue as best he could when she sniped at him over small things. Arguing with her wouldn't help. He enlisted Sam, Gilly, Podrick, anyone he could find to stay with her and ensure she stayed in bed, but the castle was busy and he couldn't always manage it. 

A sennight after she was back in her rooms, Jaime returned with supper to find her not just sitting up but standing near the fireplace. She was gripping the stone and her face was contorted in pain. "Gods damn you, woman, Sam told you not to try to get up yet without help!"

"I'm all right," Brienne gritted out. "I just moved too fast."

"Come, get back into bed." Jaime put his hand on her waist, intending to help her. Brienne slapped his hand away. 

"Brienne, you will tear your wound open if you keep trying this. Lie. Back. Down."

"I'll never regain my strength lying here uselessly," she grumbled. "I can't abandon Lady Sansa forever."

"Sansa is being protected by Podrick," Jaime reminded her. "The lad who you personally trained. Would you like me to tell him that you don't believe he's up to the task?" 

She glared. He glared right back. 

"I can't just sit here and do nothing!" she yelled in his face.

"Yes," he snarled at her, desperately trying not to start shouting. "You can. You will. You will stay here, you will rest, you will not do anything without Sam's approval even if I have to tie you to the damned bed!" His blood ran hot at that thought before he pushed it aside.

She drew herself up to her full height, wincing at the strain on her injury. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me," he growled. "Everyone in Winterfell would be on my side."

For a long moment they were almost nose to nose, equally furious. Brienne's eyes glinted in the firelight and the memory of the battle struck him again, her eyes going blank as she lost consciousness. It shredded the last restraint on his temper.

"For fuck's sake, Brienne, you were _gone_!" Once he started speaking, he couldn't stop the torrent of words pouring out of him. Too many days of watching over her, consumed with worry, had built up like water bursting a dam. "I was there, Podrick was there, we both watched you die. Then we couldn't find you. Hours went by. We all thought we'd lost you, do you understand? Me, Pod, Tyrion, Lady Sansa and her sister, everyone! We thought you were dead and our best hope was to find your body so you wouldn't end up food for wolves. We were out there in a fucking blizzard searching for your corpse for hours. When we found you and brought you back it was a miracle you weren't dead. Then your wound got infected. You were ill. For days. The infection and the fever nearly finished what the wights couldn't! I know, I sat at your side through all of it, begging you to drink, to sleep, not to die on me, not after everything." 

Brienne was staring, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open. "Jaime." 

The sound of his name was too much. Jaime closed the small distance between them and wrapped his arms around her. Brienne went still but she didn't push him back. His anger drained away, leaving only the memory of his fear and grief. 

"They stabbed you, your blood was all over me. I was holding you when…" He shuddered and her hand touched the back of his neck lightly. 

Jaime leaned his forehead against her shoulder. "It was supposed to be me, not you," he whispered. 

Brienne exhaled, the sound loud given how close they were. Her other arm came around his waist tentatively and he tightened his hold, remembering just in time not to crush her and risk pulling at her wound. Her arms wrapped more certainly around him and they stood there in silence, Jaime drawing comfort from the solid warmth of her body. 

Brienne spoke quietly. "I didn't... I don't remember. I remember the pain, in the battle, but after that, it's just dark, and cold, until I woke up here. I think I recall bits of time but nothing is clear."

That could happen with the milk of the poppy, Jaime knew. He shouldn't have raised his voice. Reluctantly, he drew back and looked into her eyes. Brienne watched him uncertainly, biting her lower lip.

It would have been easy to lean forward, to press his lips against hers as they stood there holding on to one another. They hadn't been this close to each other since Harrenhal.

But she wasn't supposed to be out of bed. He let go and stepped back, mindful of her injury. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" Days of keeping his tongue silent and he'd just yelled at her like a child having a tantrum. _Cersei would have slapped me for speaking to her like that._

Brienne looked down at her feet. "I'm sorry too. I'm not used to…" 

He hazarded a guess. "Having proper time to recuperate?" 

Brienne nodded, but her gaze darted to him and then away. "Having someone… looking after me," she said, so lowly the crackle of the fire nearly swallowed the words, but he heard her and something in his chest glowed at hearing them. 

Podrick, he was sure, would have objected to that statement, but Jaime knew Brienne felt responsible for the lad. Doubtless any injuries she had sustained before had been endured rather than nursed in any real way. Chasing Sansa Stark all over the realm would not have allowed for the luxury of time, and Brienne, in her role as the protector of the Starks, would never have accepted having someone fussing over her. 

"Well you'd best get used to it, ser, for I promised Lady Sansa I would ensure you recovered and I mean to keep my word." He moved to the bed and ostentatiously arranged the pillows so she would be propped up, then held out his hand. "Now will you lie back down? Please?" 

Brienne allowed him to assist her back into the bed. He made a show of tucking the furs over her, which made her scowl at him again, but it felt lighter. He felt lighter, for all that he had poured out all his anger at her when none of this was her fault. He fetched the tray with her meal and set it in her lap. 

He tended the fire and tidied the room as Brienne ate her stew, repeating bits of gossip he had overheard, though there wasn't much to report. Winterfell was settling into a routine again, the first peace the place had known in years. 

When she was finished eating, Jaime went to take the tray. Brienne reached out and put her hand on his arm above his golden hand, the same place she had held on to him when she slept, keeping him close. He wondered whether he would ever get used to the sight of her eyes up close. He doubted it. 

"Thank you."

The impulse was too strong to resist entirely. Jaime leaned forward and pressed his lips against her temple. "Rest, my lady." He pulled away before he could do anything else, but he saw the way Brienne's face was flushing and smiled to himself.

*~*~*~*~* 

The argument between them produced one benefit in that Brienne stopped taking risks while he was absent. She still insisted on sitting up and trying to stand, but she let Jaime help her rise and stay next to her so that she didn't risk falling and re-injuring herself. Sam reluctantly agreed that she could begin walking if she was careful, so Jaime kept his arm around her waist while Brienne moved unsteadily around her room.

She was curt and snapped at him more than once, but now Jaime snapped back. It reminded him of the first days of their acquaintance, though with a more benign intent. But she leaned on him, held his arm or his hand, without flushing or hesitating to touch him for support.

The longer there was no news from King's Landing, though, the more anxious he grew. Guilt nagged at him during the day, that he was tucked away safe and warm in Winterfell while his sister faced her death alone. _We were meant to die together, she always said._ He was grateful when Sam or Gilly or Lady Sansa came to visit Brienne. He would slip away and walk the walls, hearing the echoes of Cersei's voice in his head. He saw Bran Stark falling, saw Aerys, saw every terrible thing he had done replaying behind his eyes. 

Nearly a moon had passed when he dreamt of Cersei, on the Iron Throne, wildfire burning around her, her belly empty and her voice telling him it was his fault, that she had burned the child because it was what he deserved, that they all deserved to burn. 

Jaime jerked awake to find Brienne standing next to his bed, her hand on his shoulder. "Brienne? You shouldn't be up."

"You were calling out in your sleep. To-" she stopped short and Jaime realized his desperate pleading with Cersei in his dream must have been said aloud. 

He felt like a wight himself the next day, but Brienne was determined to get her exercise and Sam allowed her to leave her room for the first time. They only made it down the corridor and back, Jaime not wanting to risk trying the stairs yet, before Brienne finally yielded to her shaking limbs and sat on the bed just as a knock sounded at the door.

It was a page, a little boy who said Lady Sansa was asking for Ser Jaime to come to her solar. That likely only meant one thing. After making Brienne swear not to try to walk any further without him he left, his heart pounding as he hurried through the corridors.

There was news from the south, there had to be, for Sansa to summon him. Was it over? Had the Dragon Queen finished her conquering march? He had wondered if he would know, somehow, if Cersei died, even if he was not there. His skin prickled as he remembered his dream the night before. _Perhaps that was Cersei burning in one of the Seven Hells, haunting me from there._

Sansa indeed held a scroll in her hands when he arrived, but she looked troubled. 

Euron Greyjoy. A trap. Only one dragon remained, and Daenerys' closest companion was in his sister's hands. 

_Gods be good, what if Cersei wins? She'll turn her army on Winterfell, she'll come for Brienne and the Starks next._

Tyrion had written Jaime directly. Sansa handed him the smaller scroll. It was unsealed, so she had likely read his brother's assurance that he was trying to sway the Dragon Queen to spare Cersei's life for the sake of their unborn child. 

He couldn't get away from Sansa's gaze quickly enough but he felt it follow him outside, across the yard. Every person he passed, he could feel the words at his back even if they were unsaid. Kingslayer. Oath breaker. Sister fucker. There was judgement in every pair of eyes.

It was in Brienne's eyes, when he went back to her room some while later. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her feet on the floor, as if waiting for him. _She knows_ he thought. Of course someone had told her. People had probably been questioning her about having the Kingslayer so close to her all this time. Bad enough for an unmarried maiden to have a man sleeping in her room, but a man as infamous for his lack of honor as Jaime? He had been soiling her reputation by simply being here.

"Podrick came and told me the news. Are you… how are you?"

"I hardly know." 

She nodded. Her hands were gripping the edges of the bed tightly. "If Cersei is-" Brienne swallowed heavily, looking away from him. "If she carries your child, you should go to her aid."

"It might not be true," Jaime said, desperately trying to ignore the last part of Brienne's words. "There might not be a babe. It might not be mine." The doubt had dogged him since the moment Cersei told him. He knew she had not been faithful to him at any time. He wondered now if the children had all been his in the first place.

"But it could be." 

He couldn't deny it. He barely remembered those last weeks before the meeting at the Dragon Pit.

"You have to try. If there's a chance for the babe, you must. You know I have no love for your sister, but the child is innocent." 

Cersei made her choice, he wanted to say. When she refused to recognize the danger in the north, when she withheld the Lannister army from fighting the dead despite the danger to the child, she chose her throne and her power over everything else. It was always the choice Cersei made. Jaime had only accepted the truth of that when it was nearly too late to try to save himself. 

"Daenerys still has a dragon, as well as the northern army," he pointed out. 

Brienne raised her eyes to his. "Could you live with yourself, if you stayed here and let them die? If you did nothing?"

He thought of his dreams. He thought of his brother and Sansa and everyone's expectations. He thought of Cersei dying alone, of the child dying with her. He thought of Brienne dying in his arms, of her restless sleep, of the feeling of her in his arms the other night.

If he rode south, he would not come back. He wouldn't survive to return, either Daenerys or Cersei would see to that.

_We will never see one another again if I go. And she knows that. She wants me away from her._

Brienne looked at the floor again. "You should do the right thing for your child, Ser Jaime."

The use of his title, after all that they had been through, felt like a blade coming down, severing Jaime from his own body, and cutting the connection that had existed between them for so long. 

*~*~*~*~*

He rode south. It was a miracle he wasn't robbed and left for dead on the side of the road the first day. He made no effort to conceal himself. He wasn't present much of the time, riding without thought, resting his horse only when he came back to himself long enough to pay attention or the animal simply stopped moving in protest.

He had packed his meager possessions and left Brienne's room after she told him to leave her. He thought Brienne tried to speak to him but he hadn't been there enough to answer. He didn't speak to Sansa or Pod, just took some food and found a horse and rode away. Nobody tried to stop him. 

He was caught outside of King's Landing, of course, which was something of a relief. He could sit in his chains and do nothing, be somewhere else, for hours at a time. When he slept now all he saw was Brienne dying, or worse, her body rising with her beautiful eyes changed to the shining blue of a wight. He watched her cut down Pod, cut down Sansa, Arya, cut him down, every night, while he watched, helpless. 

He heard the dragon overhead one day and wondered if Tyrion could persuade Daenerys into the mercy of killing him with a sword instead of fire.

Then his brother appeared in the tent where he was being held in the middle of the night. "Why? Just tell me, Jaime. Why?"

His voice felt hollow, which was fitting. "Ser Brienne was reminded that I'm the sister-fucking Kingslayer. Then she sent me away." 

Tyrion walked around in front of him, his face grimmer than Jaime had ever seen it. "What do you mean?"

"She learned of the child."

"Fuck. My raven?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry. I thought… it doesn't matter now. But I'm sorry, Jaime."

Then Tyrion told him of his plan. Jaime could get into the city, he could ring the bells and hopefully keep the Dragon Queen from killing thousands of innocent people. Then he could try to get Cersei and the babe out. 

Jaime doubted his brother's plan would work. He knew he could not convince Cersei of anything, and the odds of him making it into the keep and back out were almost nothing, but he was going to die one way or another. 

Hopefully he could find a better death than dragon fire. 

He embraced his brother and then slipped away into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK as you sharpen your pitchforks for me, let me just say this:
> 
> I do not believe that Ser Brienne of Tarth, most honorable person in Westeros, could learn that Jaime had a kid (or possible kid) out there somewhere and in danger and not believe to her bones that he should go try to save an innocent child. Also remember they haven't slept together here, so their relationship is in a different place.
> 
> IT'LL BE OKAY IN THE END, I SWEAR.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King's Landing falls and Jaime keeps a promise he made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting this chapter done has been like pulling teeth. Thankfully a post on Tumblr reminded me that I basically cannot handle this worse than D&D did, so here we go.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at https://mierac.tumblr.com

Jaime could hear bells he left ringing above him, and more pealing across the city, but even as he tried to think of the shortest route to get to where he thought Cersei would be, he heard a noise from his nightmares that he recognized instantly. Drogon screaming, uncomfortably close by. 

The plan had failed, and King's Landing was burning.

He made it another few streets and onto a staircase before a thunderous sound shook the walls and green light flashed to his left. _Wildfire._ He tried to move faster but it was too late. The steps rattled underneath his feet and he fell, tumbling down another flight of steps before crashing into the wall.

The fall saved his life, though he didn't know it at the time. His momentum carried him into a sharp corner. He heard a deafening crack above him and instinct tucked his body into a ball against the stone. 

The walls above him collapsed, but just above his head, a large section of the bricks stayed whole as they fell and caught on the other wall, near his feet, making a temporary roof over him. He was trapped, but the solid section protected him from any of the larger pieces raining down as the tower crumbled.

His eyes squeezed shut, his entire body curled in on itself, arms above his head. He stayed there, coughing in the dust, not able to move. In gaps he could see flames, golden ones and green, and he could hear screaming as the army moved into the city. It threw him back in his mind, standing in the Red Keep and hearing the cries as the Lannister army sacked King's Landing and Aerys ranted and raved. 

He did not know how much time passed before he was able to recall when and where he was. The sounds of the dying and fighting were muffled, distant. Slowly he tried to move his arms, then his legs. He hurt, but there did not seem to be any major injuries. He turned his head as much as he could. The gaps he could see through here were too small to fit through, but there was an open slot above the rubble that had piled behind him. 

Inch by agonizing inch, Jaime pushed his body over sharp, broken rocks, toward the light. The golden hand sparked against stone, while his other hand scraped across the rough edges. He fought for leverage in the slippery debris, pushing and pulling his shoulders, then his hips until he got out from under the slab of brick that had kept him alive. 

Eventually he got himself onto the ground and upright. The fighting had been here, from the bodies, but moved on. He found an empty house that was still standing and climbed to the upper floor and looked back. 

Most of the Keep was gone, collapsed in on itself. Fire still raged all over. The wildfire would need to burn itself out, he knew that better than anyone. 

His sister was somewhere underneath the pile of red stone. 

_I was supposed to die in there with her. I keep not dying when I'm supposed to._

Time slipped away again and he came back to himself with a start. He fumbled his way down the steps, stopping in the kitchen to grab a pitcher and slake his thirst with the sour wine sitting there. He wandered back onto the street, heading toward the keep as best he could for lack of any better purpose. 

He saw a few other people, mostly fleeing in different directions. No one paid him any heed in the dust and chaos. He couldn't save them, it was far too late for that. 

In front of him he saw a boy stumble out from a doorway into the street. A horse came pelting down the road and Jaime let out a wordless noise of warning, but it was too late, and the horse clipped the boy and knocked him over. 

Jaime managed to halt the horse, catching at the reins and then tying the animal to a broken rail. Then he went to check on the boy.

But when he turned the slender body over he started in shock. Arya Stark. Had he known she was in the city? He couldn't remember. 

There was blood on her head, but she was breathing and looked otherwise unhurt. 

Catelyn Stark's face flashed before his eyes, the feel of steel at his throat and an oath he had not wanted to make being forced from him. But he had spoken the words. 

And he'd promised Brienne.

The Red Keep was gone. Cersei was gone. Jaime would never reach the ruins, it was too late. And he couldn't just leave Arya here. He'd given his word.

He gathered Arya up and managed, somehow, to get himself up onto the horse with her cradled against his chest with his golden hand. The other guided the horse toward where he thought one of the city gates might be.

*~*~*~*~*

Arya was the one who convinced Jaime to hide, once she was awake. If Daenerys was so far gone that she would incinerate a surrendering city, she would likely kill Jaime on sight. The remains of the northern army outside were allowing people who managed to crawl out one of the holes in the city walls to flee, so Jaime had carried Arya along with the trail of people toward the water until she woke. Arya helped remove his golden hand once it grew dark and took it with her the next day to hide it somewhere. 

He faded into the crowds milling aimlessly outside the city. Arya reappeared at times to check if he was still alive. They huddled together at night while the fires raged, until Daenerys' forces had total control over the city. Then Arya brought him the news that Tyrion had been imprisoned before disappearing again to find her own brother – or cousin, as it turned out.

Jaime considered going after Daenerys, even if he knew he would die in the attempt long before he could get close to her. He had nothing left now anyway. His brother was in chains, his sister was dead along with the rest of their family. He refused to think of Brienne. What would be a bit more Targaryen blood on his hands after everything? 

So he thought about it, but if he tried, Tyrion would definitely die.

Jon Snow took the decision out of Jaime's hands before he could focus enough to choose.

*~*~*~*~*

Somehow, in the chaos as the army disbanded and the city continued to crumble, Arya lead his brother to him. Jaime knelt and embraced Tyrion, thinking _Of course, of course Tyrion managed to find a way to survive even this._ He allowed himself to be guided to Tyrion's tent and submitted to cleaning himself and changing into some borrowed clothes.

Later they dug together through the ruins of the keep and found Cersei's body. Jaime had been dreading it, fearing the sight of his twin's corpse would just provide new grist for his nightmares. But although there was blood matted in her short hair, her face looked almost as if she were sleeping.

Her stomach was slightly curved, but not nearly large enough for her to have been carrying a babe when he left for the north. He hated himself for checking, but at least he knew for certain.

He and Tyrion found a hidden place to bury her, where hopefully she would never be found. Jaime sat there through the night after the burial, staring up at the stars long after Tyrion had fallen asleep. 

*~*~*~*~*

Jaime occupied his days working with Davos and some of the others to try and bring a semblance of order among the chaos, protecting the women and children who had survived the second sacking of the city and the fires. Tyrion was preoccupied with his planning, but Jaime wanted no part of his brother's schemes. 

Brienne found him working to sort out the ruins near one of the city gates, late on the day before Tyrion's great summit was to occur. She looked well enough. Pale, but there was enough pink in her cheeks and the circles under her eyes were nowhere near as bad as they had been.   
  
He had spent days imagining what he would say when their paths crossed again, but now he couldn't summon of a word.

Brienne finally broke the extended silence, keeping her voice low so they won't be over heard. "Ser Jaime, I was relieved when we heard the news that you survived the fall of the city." 

In the tumult of his emotions, he latched on to anger. It was the most familiar. "Were you?" he asked, his voice sharp. 

"Of course I was!" she shot back.

"You certainly seemed eager to be rid of me, in Winterfell." She had sent him away, that was the thing he kept circling back to when he thought of it late in the night, hurt and anxiety spiraling through him at the thought of seeing her again. 

Brienne shook her head. "No, I… I wanted you to do what was right."

"You told me to go." His voice came out less certain than it had been.

"I told you that I thought you should go," Brienne corrected him, her own manner softening slightly. "And I was recovered enough, by then. You had fulfilled your promise, you owed me nothing more." 

That threw him. "My promise?"

"To Lady Sansa. She told me that you spoke of owing me a debt, which you did not, but you said that you swore to see me well again." 

Jaime cursed to himself. He had forgotten how literal Brienne was. And he had said as much to Sansa, so she wouldn't throw him out herself, but he wasn't sure how to explain all of that to Brienne. "It wasn't just duty, ser," he finally said. _I stayed for the same reason I rode north._

Flustered, Brienne looked away. "I'm sorry for your loss." She managed to get the words out evenly, which was something. No one else, even Tyrion, had been able to express much genuine sympathy for Cersei's death. Given that her wildfire contributed to the destruction and her actions killed thousands of people trapped in the Red Keep, it was no more than he expected. 

Then, because it was Brienne, she added, "I know this must be difficult for you." 

She nodded at the ruins around them. Jaime blinked at the sting of tears in his eyes. She knew, and understood what it would do to him to live through one of his oldest nightmares coming to life.

"I haven't slept," he admitted. "Not for long. It's all a jumble." The dragon. Aerys. His father. The twin flames, gold and green, surrounding him. 

"Then you should come and rest. It's nearly the end of the day, and Lady Sansa has brought some men from the north to help." She started to lead him away, toward the tents that were still outside the city. 

He stumbled to a stop, his fingers wrapping around her arm. "Brienne." He hadn't meant to do this here and now, but he needed to know. "Did you want me to leave?"

Her gaze darted away from his. "I wanted you to do what-"

"I know what you thought I _should_ do, that's not what I'm asking. Did you want me to go?" He had believed that both things were true, but he wasn't sure of that any longer, and everything in him was on tenterhooks. 

Brienne licked her lips and he stepped closer. _Please, Brienne._ He thought it so loudly he wondered if she heard him.

Finally she met his eyes. "No." 

*~*~*~*~*

After Jaime cleaned himself up, they ate supper together, just the two of them. Brienne asked about the fall of the city, but Jaime truthfully said he didn't recall much. He had not been entirely aware of himself since the day he left the north, not until now.

"It wasn't mine," he said eventually when his memories failed. When Brienne frowned, he continued, though his food threatened to come back up. "We found Cersei, under the rubble of the keep. It appeared there was a child, possibly, but it wasn't mine. Too much time had passed." 

"Do you know who-?"

"No." He didn't want to know. 

"I'm…" Brienne cringed. "I'm not sure what to say."

He huffed what was almost a laugh. "I'm relieved. Even if it makes me sound like the monster I am-"

"Jaime-"

He ignored her interruption. "I know now that I didn't abandon another bastard of mine to its death, even for a good cause. I know she was lying to me, as I thought." _I finally managed to see through her before the end, at least._ "Cersei made her choices, as I made mine. But you may have been right. Even though it was futile, had I not come... I would have always wondered." _It would have poisoned me eventually, thinking about what might have happened. Nevermind that I had no chance._

"You did the honorable thing, ser. Though your manner of leaving left something to be desired."

He grimaced, but he knew she was right. 

Brienne told him of how the news had arrived in Winterfell. Tyrion had sent a raven asking Sansa and her brother to come to King's Landing for the meeting that would determine what happened next. "Sam said I was well enough by then to travel," she concluded. 

"Which would not have stopped you in any case," Jaime observed. Brienne glared but didn't deny it and he felt like they were back in her room, bickering over how far she could exert herself during her recovery. 

They talked about the possible outcomes of the great summit. Brienne was firm that Sansa did not want to rule the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms. Jon Snow was still in irons for killing Daenerys. Jaime wasn't sure who else there was to rule. 

"She wants an independent north," Brienne reiterated. "She's said so over and over."

Jaime pulled together his courage. "A queen in the north, instead of a king. Would you return with her, then?" 

Brienne hesitated. "No. Escorting Sansa here was my last official duty. She has released me." 

"What?" What could possibly make Brienne leave her service to the Starks? Jaime immediately thought of the red haired Wildling who had been panting after Brienne in Winterfell and his stomach clenched. 

"There was word from Tarth," Brienne told him, making him relieved and then immediately guilty. Of course her family was important enough that she would ask for release from Sansa to go home. "The island suffered in the wars. My father is alive but he is not well." 

Jaime had little grasp of what one normally felt for a dying father, but he was fairly sure condolences were appropriate. "I'm sorry." 

She nodded. "I also…" She glanced quickly at him before looking back at the fire. "I thought I had gotten used to it, but the cold in the north seems to trouble me more now." 

He remembered those hours by her bedside, watching her shiver from the cold after her near death. It was rare for Brienne to admit to any weakness and he wasn't sure what to say. "It's understandable, after everything. After Aerys, I couldn't bear the smell of cooked meat for months." 

It was also rare for him to mention anything about that time, and Brienne knew it. She flashed him a grateful look. "I'll stay until the meeting concludes, and then find passage home, hopefully." 

"I'm certain Tyrion will be happy to pull strings for your sake." That got a small smile from her. 

It was on the tip of his tongue to say more but someone approached Jaime's small campfire. Brienne stood up. "Ser Podrick." 

Pod looked sheepish at the title. Jaime grinned. "Well met, ser." 

"Well met, Ser Jaime. My lady, Lady Sansa is asking for you." 

Brienne nodded and took her leave. Pod hesitated, looking at Jaime like he was seriously considering knocking him on his arse, but he just shook his head and followed Brienne away. 

*~*~*~*~*

Brienne found him in the evening, after the decision was made. It was a surprising turn of events, and Jaime had doubts about putting an all-knowing being on the throne of six kingdoms, but he had kept his own counsel on the subject. He hoped that the ruler in King's Landing would soon be mostly irrelevant to his life. 

In silent agreement, they left the celebration and walked until they were away from the tents, looking down over the field. She was clutching Oathkeeper like a talisman. "Will your brother ask you to reform the kingsguard, do you think?"

"He'd better not, if he knows what's good for him," Jaime snorted. "I'll dump his wine over his head. I'm done with all of it." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I won't swear myself to Bran Stark." The idea was ludicrous, no matter what Bran said about Jaime's past actions. "No more kings or queens, I've had my fill." He turned to face Brienne, trying to control the shaking in his voice. "There is only one person I trust to make any oath to."

There was a prolonged pause as Brienne tried to speak several times and failed before she finally got out, "You know I am leaving for Tarth. I may not return for some time."

He swallowed, trying to sound matter of fact. "Then we'll go to Tarth." 

"Your brother is here," she hedged further.

"And he'll be content as a pig in shit remaking the world and have little time for his crippled, broken older brother." 

Her temper flared, as he knew it would. "Would you stop with that nonsense?" 

"As my lady commands."

"I'm not a lady," Brienne protested. It was rote; he had heard her make that objection many times before. 

"You are. You are also the most honorable person I've ever met." Steeling his nerves, he reached for her hand, but she shook herself free and his stomach plummeted. 

"I must get home and see my father. I'm not sure what will happen, or when…"

He flinched back. _Of course, she doesn't want to bring the dishonored Kingslayer home with her._ It was just as it had been in Winterfell.

But he had mistaken her then, hadn't he? 

Brienne saw his reaction and stepped toward him. "No, Jaime, I didn't mean…" _Not ser._ She was close enough for him to feel her warmth against his front. "I'm not-" She shook her head, and his heart sank. "Not _yet_ , I mean, I…" She looked down, cringing in embarrassment, her shoulders hunched like she was expecting a blow.

_Yet_. That one word calmed the anxiety that had threatened each time he thought of her arrival. It had plagued him in Winterfell as well, but it settled at the simple thought.

_Not yet._

His whole life Jaime had been given very little control over his own future. From the moment he had been born his father had planned his life out, and then Aerys made him a kingsguard at fifteen. The king, his sister, his house, something had always been dictating what Jaime needed to do.

He wasn't blameless, he knew that. He had acquiesced for a long time, done a minimal amount to blunt his family's worst actions and participated fully in others, but he had gone along with all of it. He had just done the next thing that needed to be done. 

Until Brienne.

The decision to go north had been relatively easy, regardless of what Brienne thought of him. Seeing the wight crawling across the stones of the Dragon Pit had been incontrovertible proof of the danger they were all in. Even Cersei's anger hadn't been enough of a counterweight.

He hadn't expected to survive. It was easier to live with the possible consequences of a decision, knowing that whatever they were, they would likely be of short duration. He'd only started to panic when they lived through the Long Night and there was a new choice before him he had thought he had already made.

And hadn't Brienne been in a similar position for years? She pledged herself to Renly, to Catelyn, spent years searching for Sansa and Arya, and when she finally found them they learned almost immediately of the army of the dead. She hadn't decided to leave the north of her own free will either. Her father was ill. The next duty was before her and she would go do it. 

She wasn't ready to think beyond that yet. He understood. 

And knowing Brienne, she would never ask him to go with her. She never asked him for anything for herself. But that didn't mean he had to leave her alone to face it, not anymore.

He reached up, touching her chin with his fingers and making her look at him. "Not yet, then, my lady. But I've watched you leave me, or had to leave you, too many times. I won't do it again."

He could see it in Brienne's eyes, how she thought back over each time they had separated from each other. At every parting, he had wanted to turn back, or follow her. When he left the north, he had assumed (not for the first time) that he would never see her again. 

But the war was over now, they were both alive, and there was no duty or responsibility to his house or his sister or any damned throne that mattered more to him than staying with the woman he loved. He could wait while Brienne did her duty to her house and her family.

The thought reminded him of Winterfell. "We'll go to Tarth, so you can see your father. After all, I promised to take you to the sea."

She frowned. "I don't remember that." When did he start thinking her confusion was adorable? 

"It was when you were ill. The fever, you had a nightmare." He reached for her hand again and this time, she held on. "After you woke you said you missed the water, and I promised to take you to the shore when you were well." 

"Oh." She studied their joined hands, her expression solemn but not like she was gearing up for a fight. "I suppose you're going to remind me about Lannisters and debts, then, if I try to leave you here." 

It took a moment for him to realize she was deliberately making a joke. He threw back his head and laughed. Brienne gave him a pleased smile. "I would, wench. I would." 

She elbowed him for the nickname, but as they walked side by side back to the others, Jaime felt a certainty he hadn't felt since the night he knighted her. Brienne was willing for him to stay with her. That was all he needed for now. This was where he belonged, and where he wanted to be.


End file.
